“We are going to give that performance at two o’clock 290 this afternoon,” I said. “After that, another to-morrow at the same hour, and on every day at the same hour, as long as it pays. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” sneered the mayor.
“And,” I continued, “if the governor of Lorient sends gendarmes to conduct us to the steamship in Lorient harbor, they’ll take with them somebody besides the circus folk.”
“You mean me?” he inquired.
“I do.”
“What do I care?” he bawled in a fury. “You had better go to Lorient, I tell you. What do you know about the commune? What do you know about universal brotherhood? Everybody’s everybody’s brother, whether you like it or not! I’m your brother, and if it doesn’t suit you you may go to the devil!”
Watching the infuriated magistrate, I said in English to Speed: “This is interesting. Buckhurst has learned we are here, and has paid this fellow heavily to have us expelled. What sense do you make of all this?—for I can make none.”
“Nor can I,” muttered Speed; “there’s a link gone; we’ll find it soon, I fancy. Without that link there’s no logic in this matter.”
“Look here,” I said, sharply, to the mayor, who had waddled toward the door, which was guarded by Kelly Eyre.
“Well, I’m looking,” he snarled.